


seven brief lessons on physics

by andromedaas



Series: on the nature of daylight [1]
Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, F/F, Post-Nuclear War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-25 21:00:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30095046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andromedaas/pseuds/andromedaas
Summary: “I have a dog”“My skin glows because of overexposure to radioactive plutonium so now I’m basically the hulk”She was the last person alive, simply tending to her corn, fighting off mutated wolves, birdwatching, and enjoying her sunset rides through Yellowstone.Then Zelda Spellman shows up with a Winchester Super X and a beagle named Vinegar Tom, turning everything Lilith thought she knew about life after nuclear warfare upside down.
Relationships: Zelda Spellman/Mary Wardwell | Madam Satan | Lilith
Series: on the nature of daylight [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2214447
Comments: 16
Kudos: 27





	seven brief lessons on physics

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thescandaloflesbianism](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thescandaloflesbianism/gifts).



> valentina wanted post-apocalyptic fic she gets post-apocalyptic fic ft nuclear war, a tractor, aerospace engineer lilith, supreme interstellar vibes, and way too much geochemistry, also space, NASA, and theoretical physics, a lil sprinkle of I am legend (without dog death i promise)
> 
> disclaimer: i know nothing about writing post-apocalyptic fiction or engineering but i do know a lot about space, rocks, surviving on my own in the wilderness, ranching, and the dirt beneath my toes so here goes nothing
> 
> disclaimer to the disclaimer: yes this is the title of carlo rovelli's books i'm aware i own them all

**Newton’s Flaming Laser Sword (also known as Alder’s razor):** _In its weakest form it says that we should not dispute propositions unless they can be shown by precise logic and/or mathematics to have observable consequences. In its strongest form it demands a list of observable consequences and a formal demonstration that they are indeed consequences of the proposition claimed. What cannot be settled by experiment is not worth debating._

She remembers it like it was yesterday. Remembers her mother screaming at her to run. Remembers the light swallowing the horizon. Remembers being hit with something akin a thousand shards of glass puncturing her skin.

Remembers waking up to a haze of fog and dust and the sky ran red.

 _Is this it?_ She would wonder, picking through the bodies, shadows burned to sidewalks, the harsh electronic crackle of blown fuses. _Is this what humanity has fallen to?_

She remembers the first time the sun went down and she huddled beneath a wool blanket, no fire to keep her warm. Remembers staring at the stars and naming the constellations that her father taught her. Polaris, always guiding her home. Ursa Major and Ursa Minor, Draco, Lynx, Perseus.

She remembers the shock of stifling a scream after she looked at her arm for the first time, seeing the side effects of radiation in person.

She had read about radiation poisoning, seen the burns that her colleagues had gone through as the tirelessly worked on nuclear engine after nuclear engine just to get on satellite into space, to keep it going long enough to make it to the outer worlds of the solar system.

She’s never seen radiation take form like this before.

Beneath the inky indigo Wyoming sky her skin glows, tainted with thousands of Plutonium particles. When she was younger it scared her, knowing that the radiation had changed her, knowing that she survived with this curse.

Now, Lilith shakes out her hair and laughs and laughs and _laughs_ at the hand God has dealt her.

-

The tractor broke again. Lilith stands in the cornfield, hands on her hips as she glares at the offending piece of machinery. Her hands have grease stains on them from being elbow deep in the engine, siphoning out the rest of the petrol until it stood empty, a shell of its former glory.

She was an aerospace engineer once, a pilot, a good one, the pride of NASA. She had spent years upon years training to be sent into space, to Mars, to the beyond.

 _Mankind was born on earth,_ her father used to say. _We used to stare at the sky and wonder about our place in the stars. Now we just look down, and worry about our place in the dirt. Mankind was born on earth, but it was never meant to die here._

Lilith sighed, rubbing the grease spot further across her forehead. The war was fulled with uncertainty, and death, and then the bombs happened.

There wasn’t a metre that was spared, the entire planet gone in an instant. Oceans acidified, the air too hot to breathe, the radiation burning people up in minutes, the heat searing their shadows to the surface.

Not it was just Lilith and whatever creature mutated enough to remain behind. Her skin glowed, some of the elk had two heads, some of the bears had extra legs or arms. The wolf pack behind her farm had visible burns on their sides, reeking of rot and death. The wolves tear up her fences, rip through her crops. One of these days she’ll take her Remington out there and watch them fall, one by one.

She settles down in front of the tractor, rolling beneath it with her toolbox and a can of WD-40. She’s fixed rockets before, drew up the specifications for Vulcan Centaur and built it. Watched as it got launched into space, all of her hard word and sweat and tears gone, transversing the galaxy.

It takes several hours but she replaces the internal-combustion engine with the same set of solar arrays she fastened to Kepler. The old tractor groans when it starts, but it starts and Lilith cannot complain.

There’s something about being alone in the world that gave her a twisted since of reality. She knows this land, her land, the land that she chose to survive on after climbing out of the ashen waste of San Fransisco and stealing the only thing left standing from the stables, riding like her life depended on it.

She was thrust into this world with a worn down Remington 700, a tractor that barely ran, and maybe sixty acres of corn, potatoes, wheat, whatever the burned up soil would let her grown to survive.

She follows the tractor on Stolas, making sure the GPS isn’t on the fritz again, tilting her hat down so the sun doesn’t hit her eyes. Wyoming is desolate, even before the war, but the country is beautiful. The Tetons rise from the ground to her right, reaching towards the sky with pointed fingers of gneiss.

The tractor turns, heading north towards Yellowstone. Lilith follows, urging Stolas on with a gentle tap of her heels. It continues like this for a mile, if not more, until she reaches the fence that the wolves dug up.

They did a number on it this time, tore out three of her posts and trampled them to the ground. Lilith sighs and dismounts, puts her fingers up to the sun. Four hours and forty-five minutes. That’s what she has until nightfall. It’s an hour ride back from here, and twilight will happen before then, and she doesn’t want to be out here after dark. Not with the wolves this close. There used to be cougars, back when she arrived. They hadn’t seen a rifle in a while and she reacquainted them with it.

Lilith swings the rifle off her back and sets her shoulders. The tractor will run its loop and return to the barn, as programmed. Right now, she’s worried about her fence.

-

Two hours, fifteen minutes. That’s how long until sundown. Lilith squints at the horizon, looking at what she thought was movement across the plains, then shakes her head. A trick of the light. Creatures don’t wander close to her during the day.

She sets the last post, hitting it with the butt of her rifle as it finally creaks into place. Looks up at the horizon again.

The movement is there still, this time closer. She narrows her eyes.

 _Must be the wolves_ she thinks, _getting courageous will be the most foolish mistake they make_. She grips the reins to Stolas and resigns herself to heading back, hoping that the repairs hold until she can bring the ATV out tomorrow with actually supplies.

There’s a whine at her feet. Lilith cocks her head, hand on the knife in her boot before she can form a thought, as a beagle walks up to her, twin tails shaking in the sunset. She’s never seen a beagle around here before, and she’s seen everything.

“Vinegar Tom,” someone called and Lilith freezes, almost falling off Stolas. It was a hallucination. Had to be a hallucination. No one else survived the war, only her and the wildlife and the super volcano. “Vinegar Tom come back here.” The movement she saw in the distance has a face now. Pale skin and red hair and something on their back, the suns rays making it seem more like a fire slowly creeping across her vision. On instinct Lilith raises her rifle, flicking the safety off and resting her thumb on the trigger. The dog isn’t a threat. If it was the beastie would have attacked by now.

“Who’s there?” She calls, hesitant. She’s alone, this is just some bad corn or bread or maybe, maybe the Plutonium is finally killing her. She closes her eyes, ready to open them and have this stranger disappear.

When she opens them the stranger is closer and _Jesus fucking Christ All-Mighty_ she is gorgeous. Worn leggings, the expensive hiking kind too, thick leather boots, flannel below an unzipped winter jacket. Backpack overflowing with supplies on her back, Winchester strapped to the side. The hat on her head is slightly too big for her, dipping slowly to one side. “Who are you?” Lilith asks, her tongue heavy in her mouth.

The stranger pushes her hat back, revealing bright green eyes to match her hair. “My name is Zelda Spellman. It’s nice to see that someone else survived that blasted war without being mutated. And you are?”

Lilith is stuck dumb, words escaping her with every last ounce of rational thought. She thinks about all she could say. _My name is Lilith, welcome to my post-apocalypse haven which is also a ranch. May I offer you a drink, you look like you enjoy Irish whiskey?_ She doesn’t say any of those things.

“You dog has two tails.” Lilith states stupidly.


End file.
